The Wife Auctioned For One Dollar Chapter 08
The Manhattan Business Council charity gala was held in the penthouse ballroom of The Peninsula New York.
This was Vito’s most important public appearance before the South Brooklyn waterfront redevelopment project bid. He needed to project the image of a devoted family man—responsible, clean-cut, a businessman you could trust.
Which meant me, the “pregnant wife,” was a prop he couldn’t do without.
Before we left, he personally fastened a diamond necklace around my neck—the kind with a price tag most people couldn’t fathom.
“There’ll be a lot of press tonight.”
He whispered against my ear, his fingers tracing the skin at the nape of my neck.
The touch was warm. My skin crawled.
“Remember to smile.”
“Don’t embarrass me.”
At the venue.
Photographers and reporters packed both sides of the red carpet.
Cameras and phones fired in unison, a barrage of white light stinging my eyes.
Vito took my arm and walked me down the carpet.
For the cameras, his smile was warm, effortless. He even bent down to adjust the hem of my gown.
“Mr. Vitale really is the gold standard for husbands.”
“Mrs. Vitale looks stunning even pregnant—you’re a lucky man.”
The flattery came from every direction.
I played along.
A flawless smile, a display piece in a gown.
Once we were inside the ballroom, Vito was immediately swarmed by a crowd of politicians and businessmen.
He let go of my hand without a second thought.
“Go sit in the lounge over there. Don’t overexert yourself.”
He dispatched me to a corner and threw himself into the networking fray.
I sat on a sofa with a glass of warm water, watching from the shadows.
Less than ten minutes passed.
Before I spotted a flash of blinding white.
Lily.
She was here too.
Same innocent, delicate look as always—yet she stood boldly at Vito’s side.
Vito didn’t even bother to hide it. He handed her a glass of champagne right there in the open.
A business partner who clearly didn’t know the situation laughed and asked, “Mr. Vitale, and who might this be?”
Vito smiled.
“This is my most valued friend and advisor, Miss Monroe.”
“She’s been an enormous help on the South Brooklyn project.”
*Most valued friend and advisor.*
Those words landed like a slap across my face in front of the entire room.
The people who’d been fawning over me moments ago now exchanged knowing, uncomfortable glances.
Whispers came from every direction.
“So Vitale’s type is the sweet, innocent kind?”
“Well, well. The actual wife’s sitting in the corner with a baby bump, while the ‘advisor’ works the room at his side.”
“That’s how these dynasty marriages work, isn’t it? The wife handles respectability. The mistress handles pleasure.”
I was completely isolated in my corner.
Like a joke that didn’t belong.
Vito was doing this on purpose.
If he couldn’t torture me physically, he would do it psychologically—stripping away my dignity one layer at a time, right here, in front of New York’s elite.
This was his punishment.
Lily seemed to be relishing every second of being the center of attention.
Champagne in hand, she glided toward me with the lightness of a dancer.
“Evelyn.”
She stood before me, looking down.
“Is the air conditioning too strong in here?”
“Look at you, sitting here all alone. You poor thing.”
She covered her mouth and giggled, not bothering to conceal the malice swimming in her eyes.
“Vito says he’s going to make a very important announcement tonight.”
She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“He’s putting thirty percent of the South Brooklyn project equity into a trust under my name.”
“Evelyn, after tonight, you’ll be nothing.”
Her shoulders shook with laughter, as if she could already picture me sobbing and being thrown out on the street.
At that moment, the ballroom doors were drawn open by the waitstaff.
Flanked by a contingent of bodyguards in black.
Damien strode in, wearing a minimally tailored black bespoke suit.
His presence was so commanding that the crowd parted before him like water.
“That’s Don Hawthorne.”
“What’s Don Hawthorne doing here?”
“He never comes to these charity galas.”
Vito’s eyes lit up the instant he saw him. He abandoned the client he’d been talking to and rushed over.
“Don Hawthorne, it’s an honor to have you here.”
His back was slightly bent, his posture bordering on servile.
Damien stopped.
“Is it?”
His dark gaze passed over Vito entirely and landed, unerring, on me in my corner.
I set down my glass of water.
Stood up.
Smoothed the hem of my gown.
The show was finally about to begin.